christianxxbennet

[christianxxbennet]

[christianxxbennet]

claireortega:

Ortega was on a war-path – unsatisfied with yet another round of Detective Cordova’s answers to her never ending questions,  she’d set out with a scowl on her face and a sour mood hanging over her head like a thick, gray fog. NYPD was starting to get shader and shader. Nothing seemed to be getting better, and there were more and more murders happening at every turn. It was her job to expose it all – and yet here she was, with nothing more than a conversation telling her to chill out. That was an article she’d certainly be writing, if only to get back at him for being so evasive. 

She almost didn’t notice Cordova’s partner settled in the window of Sunny Maria’s. If she hadn’t ducked to pick up her phone when she dropped it, she’d have missed him all together. Seconds later, she’d slipped inside and was at the table across from him, finger pointed at the name he’d scrawled on his paper.  

“Seventeen counts of first-degree murder, all dismissed as self-defense or lack of evidence. Four have gone to court, and he’s pleaded not-guilty for the same. And those are just the times he’s been caught.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Claire felt her eyebrow raise, looking Christian up and down, supposing he already knew that information. “He’s barley thirty-two. But, if you talk to the right people, the real body count could be anywhere between fifty and eighty. That’s almost as many as Gary Ridgway from the late 90s. They’re calling this guy The Ripper, yet you and Cordova are sipping coffee and writing down names.”

Christian was completely consumed in his thoughts and his work--really, building a list of names and intentions for his perpetrators was the easiest way for him to clear his mind before continuing with an investigation. He thought (perhaps foolishly, considering the transparency of his job) that he would be allotted some peace and quiet while he mulled things over in the coffee shop. Because that’s what he needed, wasn’t it? Silence to try and work through just what Dante Vicario was up to and how his “businesses” clashed and correlated with the Irish and Russian mafias that took New York City by storm?

So preoccupied with attempting to narrow down the list of crimes and pinpointed blame to Dante Vicario, he nearly missed the rather sudden, in-your-face presence of one of the NYPD’s most persistent pests: Claire Ortega. Blinking up at the young woman he now found across the table from him, Christian instinctively curled his paper in towards himself--it was true, most of Vicario’s crimes were widely known, but there was still something that felt off about a reporter peaking in on official police paperwork (i.e. Christian’s brainstorming).

“You’d be surprised, how specific ya need to be when it comes to pinning these guys down for their crimes,” Christian reasoned, fiddling with the top of his journal. “I know he’s in the mob, you know he’s in the mob, but until I have concrete evidence to back that up...we’re nowhere. It might seem madness, but there’s a method to it, I promise.”

[christianxxbennet]

Christian Bennet sat alone in a quaint little cafe, his favorite pen in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and a journal sprawled on the table in front of him. He blew on the steam rising from the mug gently, sipping his drink before deciding to add a splash of creamer to his cup. He’d narrowed down his spreadsheets and brainstorming logs down to a few crucial diagrams of what he’d gathered from the Diamond Ring infiltrating the city. It was interesting; research and intelligence provided indicated that, though each crime organization essentially operated the same way, they all ran differently, like different cogs shaped and built into the same well-oiled machine.

Currently, he was lost in thought, studying a “family” tree for the Italians, starting with the don and working his way down. He murmured thoughtfully under his breath, jotting down a question mark and half-formulated thought next to the one incriminating name he had written down: Dante Vicario. This was impossible--there was no end to the amount of things he had to pore through to glean even the slightest inkling as to these mafia members’ whereabouts and intentions.

[christianxxbennet]

UOMO Fragrance for Men by Salvatore Ferragamo.